


Double Stars

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Doppelganger, Impersonation, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Sharing a Bed, Space Stations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 12:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: When the spaceship Yu-topia docks at Sochi station, pilot Viktor Nikiforov is just hoping for a few days RnR.  He ends up having the night of his life dancing with his crush.  Things are looking up.  Until he gets kidnapped, that is.  Will he ever find out how the charming Officer Katsuki really feels about him?





	Double Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RachelOngaku](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelOngaku/gifts).



> Written as a gift for Rachel as part of the YOI Secret Santa! She asked for Viktuuri.  
> I hope you enjoy, and have a very happy holiday!

Sochi station wasn’t exactly a top choice vacation destination, but for the crew of a long-haul space freighter, it might as well have been an oasis in the desert. The rundown bars and crowded market bazaars might be a haven for thieves and pickpockets, but they provided a welcome relief from the endless months onboard between stops. Cramped quarters and lousy rations were one thing—anyone who lived and worked in space was used to those, the universal equalizer of life out amongst the stars—but a station stop at least offered the relief of a little extra elbow room, and perhaps some variety of diet and company. All of which was useful if you, say, hated your crewmates.

“Get out of my way, assholes,” Yuri snarled as he shoved his way down the gangway past Viktor and Chris. “That idiot JJ bungled the provisions orders again and now I have to go sort it out. I have to spend my leave time making sure we all get to eat properly for the next six months instead of, you know, not doing that and actually getting to enjoy my leave!”

“Did, did he expect an answer to that?” Viktor asked, gesturing to the quickly retreating back of the still-ranting midshipman.

“I don’t think so, mon ami. Our little ships cat just vocalizes his displeasure loudly, so we are all aware he has been offended.”

“Usually at you. Probably because you say things like that about him.”

Chris responded with a philosophical shrug. “But am I wrong?”

“Excuse me”

Chris moved aside at the soft words and Viktor stared as the speaker walked past. This was not unusual. Viktor often found himself staring at the serious features and stunning thighs of ships purser Katsuki Yuuri. Well, as much as he could get away with before the man’s brow would furrow into an adorable little frown ask if he needed help with anything. To which Viktor invariably would smile and say no and return to whatever it was he was supposed to be doing with maybe only one last lingering glance at the curve of those beautiful ears, or the graceful way Katsuki’s fingers wrapped around his coffee cup, or the strong line of his thighs. If Viktor were a betting man, he would bet Katsuki Yuuri had amazing thighs. It was too bad the horrible cut of his uniform hid them so.

An elbow impacted Viktor’s lower rib cage and he let out a surprised grunt startled from his highly inappropriate daydream about his fellow crew member.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are we actually going to get on the station at some point before the ship has to depart?” Chris asked. “Not that I blame you, of course, you have a thoroughly _worthy_ distraction. But I would rather like to find one myself, and that isn’t going to happen on this gangway.”

Viktor shook himself. “Yes, of course. What? No!” He grabbed Chris by the elbow and pulled him along down the gangway. “I mean, yes, he’s gorgeous, but he also hates me. So, no.”

“Darling, I don’t think he hates you.”

“The first time we met he told me off for improperly storing my gear on the shuttle. And whenever I try and strike up a conversation, he brushes me off.” 

“He’s like that with everyone.”

“Not Chulanont.”

Chris raised an eyebrow at the mention of the freighter’s most gregarious and friendly crewmember. Okay, he has a point. Phichit Chulanont could probably make friends with anyone and anything, including but not limited to hostile alien life forms, his own kidnappers, politicians, and wild animals like some sort of Disney princess. So, it’s really not surprising that he’s friendly with Katsuki. But Viktor has more evidence. 

“Lee. I know I’ve seen him having breakfast with Seung-gil Lee. More than once.”

“Were they talking?”

“No. But they’re both so quiet, that’s normal.” Chris frowned skeptically but Viktor pressed on. “He likes Yuri. Plisetsky, Yuri Plisetsky. They hang out. Or something. Yuri won’t tell me what it is.”

“Oh,” Chris said, nodding in understanding, “I get it. You’re just jealous that your cousin gets to be closer to the guy you like.”

“I am not jealous. He’s my cousin. And he’s fifteen. And they work in the same department.”

Chris slapped him on the back good-naturedly. “Of course. But there’s nothing in what you say that proves that Katsuki hates you, merely that he is reserved and has close relationships with others in the crew. No reason to give up hope yet.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” But if Katsuki didn’t dislike him, then why did he never respond to Viktor’s attempts to flirt with him? Not that there had been many, but still. Or even just his attempts to talk to him. There had been more of those, plenty more. But they had all ended in the same way any—with polite work conversation fizzling out into awkward silence quickly broken when one or the other of them made some excuse and ran away. Viktor hung his head. How was he ever going to get his happily ever after if he couldn't even hold a conversation with the cutest man on the merchant freighter _Yu-topia_?

“What I’m more surprised about,” Chris said, his voice cutting into Viktor’s despondent musings, “is that little Yuri Plisetsky actually admitted to liking someone, as in not utterly hating the guts of another human being? It’s a miracle.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. “Or something. I’m going to go do some shopping. You have fun with whatever you’re doing. Or whoever.”

“Oh, I will.” Chris disappeared into the bustle of the crowd with a salacious wink, leaving Viktor standing at the archway indicating the intersection of the main promenade with the path they had taken up from the docks. Double checking his pockets were zipped and his communicator (the only piece of company-issued tech he brought with him from the ship and the only thing on him the captain would chew him out for losing) was securely tucked away, Viktor merged into the flow of the crowd. 

He strode through the flow of foot traffic with the confidence of a long-time visitor. At this point in his career, Viktor had been to Sochi station more times than he cared to count. It was the sort of place that long-haul space freighter captains loved to stop since the berths were affordable, the management always willing to buy what the merchants were selling, and the local population not so criminal as to get any crew member (but the especially green and unsuspecting) into too much trouble. It had been a long time since Viktor had been either of those, and Sochi station had long since become one in a long, unending loop of stopover points punctuating even longer, seemingly endless stretches piloting freighters through the empty darkness of space.

Viktor shook his head briskly as he walked through the door to the first, oftentimes only, guaranteed stop he’d make whenever he found himself on this station. Surely, he was too young to be having such grim and grey thoughts about his career, he was only twenty-seven, far too young to be thinking about abandoning his transitory ways and finding a nice planet to settle down for good. He’d been traveling through space practically nonstop since he started his apprenticeship at ten. He wouldn’t know what to do planet-side anymore. 

Never mind he’d been working for nearly two decades without so much as a full rotation off. Maybe he did need a vacation.

The sight of the familiar shelves of the de la Iglesia Bookshop dispersed his gloomy thoughts like a brisk wind taking task to an overcast sky. Despite the intensive air filtration system omnipresent on the station, the smell of books permeated the space and Viktor breathed deeply. One of the proprietors nodded to him from behind the front counter as he headed into the stacks and Viktor caught sight of her husband wheeling a cart of books out of the back room. Viktor deeply appreciated the couple. They were quiet, but were always smiling and had book recommendations ready for anyone who asked for them. 

The afternoon passed without interruption as Viktor browsed the shelves, smiling with delight as he unearthed new titles added since his last visit and smoothed his fingers down the spines of familiar favorites in a friendly caress. It was always an agonizing choice, deciding what to buy, but space was always at a premium on a spaceship (the irony in that statement was not lost on Viktor) and he was not yet ready to part with any of his extant collection, he limited himself to only two new books.

His prizes safely stored away in the deep pockets of his jumpsuit and the dinner hour well upon him, Viktor exited onto the promenade in search of food. Space stations were hardly epicenters of gourmet cuisine, and it rarely paid to be adventurous, but a printed menu posted beneath a half fallen down ‘Now Open’ sign boasted ‘an assortment of Earth cuisine’ and Viktor was just tired and lonely enough to hope he would get something closer to home cooking than the meals they served shipboard. He was, inevitably, disappointed. 

The borsch tasted like it was made by someone who only had passing experience with salt and had never seen a beetroot in their life, working off the recipes of half a dozen drunken security forces midshipmen out of Vladivostok nine months into their first long-haul space patrol and desperate for a taste of home cooking. Viktor ate it anyway. It was at least an attempt at something like Russian cooking, something that Jean Jacque Rousseau or whatever his name was in the ship's mess never got around to trying despite a significant portion of the crew—including the captain—being of Russian extraction. And the drinks were decent.

Viktor threw back the last of his drink and paid his bill before heading out to meet up with Chris. For once Viktor had managed to avoid being dragged into one of the seedy clubs that lined the lower levels of the station. Chris loved the atmosphere—and the cheap drinks, and the fun that could be had with the right partner, which the lower levels had in plentiful supply—but Viktor found the dingy, loud, aggressive crowds that packed the bars and dance floors to be more draining than entertaining and tried to limit his exposure to the times he had to drag his friend (or various unprepared younger crewmates who had gotten in over their heads) back to the ship to sleep off the glitter, sex, and booze.

This time, thankfully, Chris had agreed to meet up in a much tamer part of the station, a newly opened dance and coffeehouse tucked away in one of the offshoots of the main promenade. “Don’t worry, they serve alcohol,” Chris had said when Viktor wondered at his willingness to forgo the usual wild night of partying for coffee and dancing at a place that proudly advertised the quality of its jazz musicians. “And, I am told, very cute musicians. I plan to have plenty of fun.”

Viktor had only laughed at his friend’s toothy grin and wondered exactly what kind on mischief Chris would get up to at a nice, respectable coffee shop. Not that Viktor particularly cared, as long as nobody got arrested, but it seemed like this might be a bit of a challenge even for Chris’ seductive brand of riotous fun. Then again, if Chris got his way and managed to create sexy, sexy chaos in a venue that advertised slam poetry readings twice a week, Viktor would win a week of dessert rations off of Mila Babicheva in engineering. If he didn't, well, he’d lose those dessert rations but he’d actually get to spend the evening in something resembling his idea of a fun night out. It was a win-win. 

The coffee shop was just as cozy and hip as promised. The scent of coffee and chocolate (real or synthetic Viktor wasn’t sure) was thick in the air, a long faux wood bar stood along one wall, a stage for a band was set up in front of an area for dancing cleared free of tables, and the ubiquitous exposed metal bulkheads were polished to a shine instead of covered in flaking paint and left to accumulate grime as in most of the station. Viktor located Chris by the bar and immediately had a drink shoved in his hand.

Chocolate, coffee, and, hmm. There was definitely alcohol in whatever it was. "What is this?” 

“House special. Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, patting his arm, “just a little tipple to start you off. Enjoy it. Enjoy the atmosphere.” He swept one arm out, gesturing at the shop, and the other around Viktor’s waist in a brief hug. “You need to get out more, socialize. Enjoy life. You spend too much time working or sequestered in that hermit’s cell you call a cabin.”

“I have to admit, it certainly seems more like my scene than yours,” Viktor said, deftly sidestepping Chris’ final comment. He gave his drink a stir and took another sip. It was very tasty. And the whipped cream was a nice touch.

“Hmm. Well, then I will leave you to your own devices. Don’t be lonely, now.” With a pointed flick of his eyes to the far corner of the room, Chris slipped away to greet a group of people Viktor didn’t recognize who had just walked into the shop.

Curiosity at Chris’s parting words caught up with him and his eyes were drawn to the corner of the room. Curtains fell thickly, framing the far side of the stage and concealing the bare walls and exposed electrical wiring. A row of chairs, squat and wide and made of hard plastic, as comfortable and chic as could be found on board a space station, sat bolted to the ground against the wall. The lighting was dim, whether as an energy saving measure or as part of the aesthetic Viktor didn’t know, but his months of staring and wistful admiration served him well. Sitting there, half hidden by the burgundy drapes, hunched over in one of the awkward cubic chairs, sat Katsuki Yuuri, features as clear to Viktor as they would be under a spotlight or on a bright sunny St. Petersburg afternoon.

Viktor took a long slow sip of his mystery alcohol-coffee-chocolate concoction and let the burn sit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. Katsuki had a tall glass of something pink and garnished with canned fruit at his elbow which he was downing through a straw at a rate Viktor was pretty sure alcoholic beverages were not supposed to be consumed. One hand half-shielded his face from view while the other typed furiously at a tablet. Between gulps of his cocktail, Viktor could see him chewing on his lower lip, flashes of white teeth making brief, skittering appearances before disappearing once more.

He drummed his fingers on his glass. Should he go over there? Should he say something? Clearly, Katsuki was distressed. The most beautiful man on the merchant ship _Yu-topia_ (and possibly the entire galaxy) should not be distressed. And more importantly, Katsuki was a colleague. Purely as a matter of empathy and professional pride Viktor couldn’t leave a fellow crew member to deal with a point of difficulty alone. 

Okay, even he had to admit that was reaching. He didn’t do well with emotions—his own or other peoples—and it wasn’t like he would normally go out of his way to deal with someone clearly having a bad time. Katsuki was someone Viktor valued highly as a colleague, this was true. He was also very cute and Viktor wanted to have a conversation with him.

But Viktor reminded himself, this was Katsuki. Katsuki who hated him. Or, if Chris was right, Katsuki who didn’t think much of him at all, or was annoyed by him, or found him strange and off-putting, or any of a hundred different impressions that weren’t hate but still didn’t allow for socializing or even smiles in the corridors.

And Katsuki was. Katsuki was crying? No, it was just a trick of the light. His eyes were wide and watery behind his glasses as he stared at the tablet screen but his chin was firm and his typing hand steady.

Viktor really did not do crying and whatever the problem was Katsuki would not want to share with him. He wouldn’t bother the most beautiful man in the galaxy tonight.

The first band of the evening came on stage then and began their set, and Viktor was drawn from his thoughts. He recognized the guitarist as the de la Iglesia’s son, but even the slightly off-key harmony and enthusiastic guitar accompaniment of the duo couldn’t stop him from thinking that maybe he would go and find some tea in the marketplace tomorrow to slip into Katsuki’s food locker. As a good colleague would do. To cheer him up.

The songs picked up tempo and the crowd on the dance floor grew thick. Viktor lost sight of Katsuki and turned his full attention to the band, then to his drink, which was by now empty. A quick word with the bartender and he had a refill (he had no intention of getting drunk, but whatever these things were they were quite good) which he sipped as he watched the band and the dancers and the crowd milling about the cramped coffee shop.

An hour later and they’re on the third band of the night (an acapella quartet composed entirely of what must be siblings, or at least close relations, wearing brightly colored cravats and bell-bottom jeans and singing songs from the mid-twentieth century) when Chris makes his way back over to Viktor’s station by the bar. His friend is sweaty and covered in glitter, his shirt slicked tightly to his chest, and Viktor has to laugh.

“What have you been doing? This isn’t that kind of party.”

“The question isn’t what have I been doing, but who,” Chris says, drawing out the last syllable and sending Viktor a flirtatious wink.

He rolled his eyes. Of course, Chris would manage to find the only person who came to a coffeehouse wearing body glitter. The real surprise was that Chris hadn’t worn any himself to begin with, although Viktor supposed it probably had something to do with his entire stash being confiscated on the captain’s orders after an entire bottle of dry purple glitter had found its way into the air filtration system on the _Yu-topia_. Viktor still felt a bit bad about having to help confiscate a good chunk of his friend’s cosmetics, but air circulation on a spaceship was no joke and picking countless tiny sparkling flecks of purple plastic out of, well, everything and everywhere stopped being funny about ten minutes in.

But it looked like Chris was managing to have fun and maintain his sparkling image regardless—Viktor made a mental note to shove him in a shower before the captain caught sight of him, the man had developed nervous twitch response to the mere word glitter—and Viktor thought that perhaps with this outing they had finally found a decent compromise between their disparate interests. Until Chris opened his mouth and said “Why are you sitting here all by yourself? There are plenty of nice people here looking for a partner, go introduce yourself to one and join in the dancing!”

Viktor’s protests fell on deaf ears, and eventually, Chris cajoled him into dancing one dance with him. “This isn’t even proper dance music,” Viktor said as the acapella quartet vacated the stage for the next act. Sure, he hadn’t had a bad time dancing with Chris, but if he was going to dance, he wanted to dance, and this was really more of the swaying with a partner variety of faux dance.

“Oh, don’t worry darling, the night is young. You’ll get some proper dance music soon enough.” Viktor didn’t know whether or not to be worried at the sly grin that crossed Chris’ face but was distracted by the sounds of an argument picking up steam at the edge of the dance floor.

Little Yuri was there, arms folded across his chest and a scowl emblazoned on his face as he faced off against his opponent. His opponent, Viktor was surprised to see, was Katsuki, looking less upset but considerably more disheveled since he last caught sight of him. Yura appeared to be trying to convince Katsuki of something, who was stubbornly shaking his head no. Viktor drifted closer to try and make out what they were saying over the sound of the crowd.

“Come on,” Yura was saying, his tone almost pleading now in contrast to his angry tones from a minute ago (and most of the time), “Let’s just head back to the ship. You’re drunk.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow in surprise. Was Katsuki drunk? He wasn’t the sort of man that he would ever expect would let himself stoop to public intoxication, but he had been drinking quite a lot earlier. Viktor looked closer and the signs were there, coalescing into a curious picture. The unbuttoned collar, the lopsided, tousled mess of the usually neat hairstyle, the crooked glasses. The unusually relaxed expression. All individually inconspicuous but together, on a man like Katsuki Yuuri, signaled what very well could be intoxication. 

“Seriously, you ass, we need to go.” Yura’s voice interrupted Viktor’s musings, still in furious conversation with Katsuki, who seemed to be resisting all entreaties.

“But I don’t want to go back to the ship, Yura, I like it here, there’s dancing.” Katsuki grinned as he said it then gasped, grabbing Yuri’s arm. “I know! Dance with me. You win we go, I win we stay.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and Viktor understood why. Yura was a very good dancer. He’d never been particularly passionate about it, but for a solid dozen years right up until he started his apprenticeship at fourteen his mother had taken him to every ballet and ballroom class she could enter him in. “Alright, Katsudon, fine,” he said, “Let’s dance for it.”

Katsudon? Viktor wondered, but then the music started up and Katsuki was dragging Yura out onto the dance floor and his cognitive faculties were otherwise distracted.

Katsuki, it turned out, was an excellent dancer. Viktor stared, wide-eyed and wishing he had another drink just to wet his suddenly arid mouth, as the usually staid and straight-laced Katsuki twirled across the dance floor mixing half a dozen dance styles he recognized and a few he didn’t and generally leaving an increasingly frustrated Yura behind in his dust.

The song ended and a smattering of applause went up from the crowd. Viktor joined in. That performance definitely deserved a round of applause. But Katsuki hardly seemed to notice. He was over by Yuri, wide grin on his face a fitting counterpoint to the teen’s scowl. “I won, Yura,” he was saying, “we stay! Let’s go another dance.”

“Dammit, Katsudon, why do you have to be like this.” Yura practically mumbled the words under his breath and Viktor realized that the only way he could hear them was if he was way too close. This realization came a half a second too late.

“Viktor!” Viktor jumped back at the cry but still found himself with an armful of overexcited Katsuki Yuuri. “When did you get here? Dance with me.” 

“I, ah, um.” Lost for words, Viktor found himself nodding as he was pulled onto the dance floor by a definitely drunk, widely smiling, and holy hell what are muscles very strong Katsuki. Leaving an irate Yura partner-less and far behind as the next song started, Viktor found himself wrapped in the arms and looking down into the wide, shining eyes of the man he’d been crushing on for months.

This was bad, this was really bad. A small, rational portion of Viktor’s brain insisted on pleading for sense even as he was being led around the dancefloor by the most wonderful dancer he’d ever met, smiling up at him with that beautiful face, and babbling on about something in Japanese. _He’s drunk_ , the rational part of him said, _he’s hardly even spoken to you sober. And just because he’s dancing the tango with you like he’s trying to seduce you and everyone else in the room doesn’t actually mean he’s trying to seduce you._

Then Katsuki dipped Viktor and all rational thought flew right out of his head as he spun and dropped and Katsuki’s smiling face above him filled his vision and his mind.

Viktor and Katsuki danced the next song and the next, and the next, then Chris cut in and left Viktor gaping at the sidelines in stunned amazement as he and Katsuki put on a performance that was quite possibly the sexiest thing that Viktor had ever seen. Well, Chris dancing suggestively was something he saw every port of call (not that he would ever tell his friend that he had failed to be the most erotically appealing person in the room) but Katsuki. Oh, the sight of Katsuki had Viktor pulling up a chair and collapsing into it with rubber knees.

The music was low and loud and rhythmic and Katsuki twisted and gyrated and twirled with the strength and precision of a master. The man must have had professional dance training, that much was obvious from watching him, from dancing with him, and Viktor was so greatly enjoying both. Katsuki’s chest sparkled with sweat and streaks of Chris’ body glitter—when did he take his shirt off?—and his hair clung damply to his forehead and the nape of his neck and Viktor wanted to kiss it. Wanted to kiss him.

Oh, no. This was bad, this was very bad. The song ended and Katsuki slid into Viktor’s lap. 

“Viktor,” he said, practically purring the words into Viktor’s ear in a drunken slur, “Come dance with me. I want to dance with you again.”

Regretfully Viktor pulled back. “How much have you had to drink? I’ll get you some water.” Katsuki wasn’t paying attention, opting instead to cuddle up closer to Viktor’s side. “Katsuki, you need water. Will you drink it if I get some for you?”

“Call me Yuuri,” he said, ignoring the question again but taking the opportunity to direct the conversation in an unexpected direction. “It’s my name and I want you to use it.” 

“Okay, Yuuri,” Viktor said, trying to subtly shift in his chair so as not to alert Yuuri of the growing problem his words and his position were causing, “but what about-”

“No, not Yuuri, Yuuri. _Yuuuuri_.” He drew out the U extra-long and leaned in so that their noses almost touched.

“ _Yuuuuri_ ,” Viktor repeated, staring straight into those wide brown eyes that were so hazardous to his health and his sanity, “will you please let me get you some water?”

Yuuri gasped. “You’re so nice. You’re being so kind to me even though I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess, Yuuri. I want to go get you some water, will you drink it?”

“Really? Okay.” Yuuri made no move to get up, winding his arms tighter around Viktor’s neck.

“Yuuri, you need to get up if I’m going to get you a drink,” Viktor said, gently tugging at his elbow.

“Aww, I don’t want to. Your lap is very nice,” Yuuri said, but some gentle prodding eventually coaxed him onto his feet. “Come back soon, Viktor. I want to dance with you some more.”

“Okay Yuuri,” Viktor said as he tripped his way unsteadily to the bar. The contents of his mind were like a storage container that had been lifted up and given a few good shakes before being left to settle into their new configurations. Now that he’s been given permission to use Yuuri’s given name it was like he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t sure what he would do in the morning when Yuuri would be sober and they both would be back on duty.

Most likely they would go back to being restrained and civil to one another, the moment over, the magic dispelled. Something in Viktor’s chest twisted at the thought. He didn’t want to go back to being a casual acquaintance to Yuuri. He knew it was most likely the alcohol talking, and that the quiet, reserved man would probably be embarrassed that Viktor had seen him this way, but—Viktor was somewhat ashamed to admit—the evening was the most fun he had had in a long time.

For a long while his life had fallen into a blur of work and sleep. Even his books and the times he hung out with Chris had taken on a fuzzy haze like everything was wrapped in cotton wool, or maybe he was. But this night—these hours dancing with Yuuri, watching him dance with others, talking with him even if he had a tendency to trail off in Japanese and Viktor couldn’t understand—everything was sharp and clear, every minute graven into his mind in perfect detail.

Perhaps, he sighed, he should merely take the evening as a sign that Yuuri liked him considerably more than he let on, or at least had the potential to. He should take things slow, and in the morning (or perhaps tomorrow afternoon when Yuuri recovered from what was sure to be a horrific hangover) they could sit down and have a proper adult conversation about their relationship. And if they wanted to have one.

He finally managed to catch the bartender’s eye and asked for two glasses of water. He swallowed his own in several gulps then headed back to Yuuri. The chair where he had left him was empty, and a quick glance revealed him to be nowhere nearby. The crowd was dense, the music was growing louder, Chris was . . . on a pole? Viktor had no idea where that had come from, but he thanked his lucky stars it hadn’t come out while Yuuri and Chris were dancing. He might not have survived that. 

But he still couldn't find Yuuri. Viktor wove his way through the crowded space, catching glimpses of Mila, Georgi, and a few other _Yu-topia_ crew members, but not Yuuri. He’d made it all the way to the exit and was preparing to start shoving his way back inside when a kick to the back of one of his knees sent him stumbling out onto the promenade, the door banging shut behind him and the water glass sloshing and spilling over his front.

“Hey old man, where the hell is Katsuki?”

The familiar teenage snarl pitched louder than was needed to be heard in the relative quiet outside the coffeehouse, caught Viktor by surprise. Although perhaps it shouldn’t have, given Yuri’s somewhat protective argument with Katsuki earlier.

“I don’t know, I was looking for him.”

“Tch.” Yuri scowled, hands on his hips. “Well if he’s not with you and he’s not with the pervert. Where has he gone off to? Idiot.” The last was quiet, almost under his breath and Viktor almost thought he had imagined it, a product made by his imagination out of the slightly muffled music and the grinding of Yuri’s teeth as he glared down the promenade. Despite the hostile words—completely inappropriate for talking about a superior but absolutely in character for Yuri—he sounded worried and almost concerned.

They stood there together in the quiet of the nearly deserted promenade, lighting dimmed to simulate evening, awkwardly gazing out on the Yuuri-less street, until the door to the coffee shop behind them was thrust open with the ring of a bell and the spill of the noise outside out over them in a wave.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, stumbling out into him and spilling even more of the water glass, “Here you are. You disappeared.”

“Where the hell have you been,” Yuri snapped before Viktor could get a word in, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’ve been dancing, Yura, didn’t you see?” Yuuri was now hanging off one of Viktor’s elbows and Viktor courteously put his other arm around his shoulders. You know. For support.

“Let’s get you back to the ship, Katsudon, you’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“No. I want to dance some more.” He turned those puppy dog eyes on Viktor. “You’ll dance with me, right, Viktor?” He slid a hand up Viktor’s chest and those eyes were suddenly a lot less innocent.

Viktor swallowed hard and found himself nodding. Yuuri smiled, all teeth, and Viktor was yanked back into the coffee shop by his collar, water glass dropped and abandoned on the ground at the feet of an irate Yuri Plisetsky.

* * *

Viktor stumbled down the corridor until he reached his cabin, one hand leaning heavily on the bulkhead the entire way. He had probably ended up drinking more than he intended, and his unsteady feet were only one sign of his folly. His head was spinning too, and he wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol or Yuuri or both.

Even as he rolled onto his bunk, for once not bothering to go through his usual nighttime routine, his mind kept chanting Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri, the lovely syllables echoing through his head with all the other snapshots of the evening. Yuuri and him dancing. Yuuri dancing with Chris, and Yura, and half a dozen others while Viktor watched. Yuuri just dancing. Yuuri sitting on his lap, hanging off his shoulders, whispering in his ear.

The slow, inviting smile Yuuri had given him when Viktor walked him back to his stateroom and the pout that replaced it when Viktor shook his head no and turned away. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the greatest memory of the evening but they had both drunk way too much to do anything and Viktor had to be on shift in like, six hours, so he really needed at least a little sleep.

As Viktor drifted off, to dream of that wide smile and infectious laugh, he wondered briefly what things would be like between him and Yuuri in the morning. He hoped Yuuri wouldn’t regret what had been one of the greatest evenings of Viktor’s life too much. Perhaps he would bring Yuuri coffee before his shift. He hoped Yuuri would like that. 

Viktor stumbled out of bed an hour before his shift began full of nausea and regret. Not as much regret as one might expect, given the amount of alcohol he had ingested the night before, but definite regret. He couldn’t regret the evening because the evening had brought him Yuuri. But Viktor was also a twenty-seven-year-old man and he could not operate on the same ‘too much alcohol and too little sleep’ combination that he had gotten away with a decade earlier.

Not that he had ever found himself in such unfortunate situations often, even as a teenager (when he had it was usually Chris’ fault) but Viktor showered and dressed that morning feeling every bit his age.

The mess, unfortunately, was taking advantage of being in port and the smells of real food assaulted Viktor’s nose and stomach as he entered the canteen. 

“Viktor!” the ship’s cook, Jacque Cousteau or whatever, called as he walked in, “We have pancakes this morning. Care for a plate?” 

Viktor smiled wanly. “Just coffee for me, thanks.” He wasn’t a big fan of the man’s huge, fluffy, American-style pancakes drowning in maple syrup (he refused to serve them with anything but the genuine article, which was a bit difficult to get thousands of lightyears away from the nearest maple tree) on an ordinary day. Today the thought of such a sweet, heavy meal made him want to vomit. “Actually, make it two.”

“Here you go. You sure I can’t get you anything else?” Jean Valjean handed over the steaming mugs of coffee with a toothpaste-ad smile.

“This is fine.” Viktor was really going to have to look up what the man's name was someday. But later. When he wasn’t hungover. And after he found-

“Viktor!”

Viktor flinched back at the shout, the pain shooting through his head only matched by the spill of coffee over his hand. He hissed and awkwardly brought one of the still mostly full mugs up so he could suck at the scald on his thumb.

“Here,” Yuuri said, taking the precariously positioned mug out of his hand and set it down on a table, “let me give you a hand.” The words were a purr, his eyes intent, and something told Viktor that he wasn’t even remotely talking about the cup of coffee.

His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Yuuri grabbed his hand raised it up to his face to inspect the burn. Viktor’s heart was racing as Yuuri moved as if to put Viktor’s thumb into his own mouth, and he wasn’t sure if it was out of desire or fear or pain. Yuuri’s breath ghosted across the palm of his hand and Viktor snatched it back, clutching it protectively to his chest.

“Well, the coffee’s yours, anyway,” he said quickly, trying to cover his awkwardness even as his head still spun, “So, you can take it. Enjoy!”

Yuuri tilted his head, considering Viktor for a moment, before reaching behind himself and grabbing the coffee cup and bringing it up to his mouth and taking a long swallow.”

Viktor swallowed too, gulping down his own still-too-hot coffee and trying not to wince as it burned his tongue. Or at the terrible taste. Oh, right, he’d forgotten to add milk and sugar. Well, he couldn’t very well continue on to the condiments cart now, Yuuri was staring into his eyes and seductively downing an entire mug of bitter, black coffee in one go. That was hot. Why did Viktor find that hot?

“So, um, how are you feeling today, Yuuri?” Viktor mentally kicked himself the moment the words were out of his mouth. What kind of stupid statement was that? And he called him Yuuri. He knew he shouldn't do that, no matter how much he wanted to, should continue to call him Katsuki as was professional and polite until he managed to obtain Yuuri’s sober permission to use his personal name.

But Yuuri’s next words weren’t condescension or recriminatory. “I feel fantastic. Would you like to eat together when we get off shift?” 

Huh. Viktor was not expecting that. He was, however, very much in favor. “I would love that,” he said and felt a smile work its way across his face.

“Fantastic,” Yuuri purred, “I’ll meet you on the main station promenade at nineteen hundred hours.” And with that he turned and sashayed away, dropping the empty coffee mug on the return tray and turning down the corridor towards the purser's office.

“Wow,” said Viktor, softly and with feeling. Even after the previous night, he’d never seen Yuuri sashay before. It was a good look on him. Something Viktor hoped to see again. And often. Although not too often, or it might turn out to be hazardous to his health. He was right. The man had the thighs of a god.

And Viktor was going to be late. He gulped down the rest of his unadulterated coffee, burning the roof of his mouth again, and dashed off towards the helm. If there was one thing he did not want to do was explain to Captain Feltsman that not only was he late to his post with a hangover, he was late to his post because he had spent too long admiring the ass of one of his coworkers.

Fortunately, the captain was in a good mood that day, the reprieve of a station stop doing him as much good as it did the rest of the crew. Or perhaps not as much good—Viktor was not convinced the man had a personal life or any interests outside of his job, so the attractions of a space station were perhaps less for him than for most of the crew—but enough that the captain seemed positively relaxed compared to his usual, stressed out self. Perhaps he’d gone to the spa.

The other good news of the day was that Viktor, as a pilot, had remarkably little to do. It was not unexpected—his job was to fly the ship and the ship was currently docked—but it was pleasant to spend his shift running diagnostics and daydreaming about Yuuri. 

Who was incredible. Viktor always knew Yuuri was beautiful (anyone with eyes could see that), but last night had been so much _fun_. Yuuri danced like he was flying, or rather like Viktor felt when he was flying, back before flying became a job, a routine, part of the grey blur that stole time and emotion and memory. And oh, how Viktor wanted the chance to dance with him again, he hadn’t had the chance to dance like that in years and he could feel the remnants of that exertion in every muscle today. He’d made Viktor’s life brighter, with his smiles and his bright eyes and his carefree laugh, and Viktor wanted more of that.

Maybe that was selfish of him, he had no idea what Yuuri wanted in all of this, but for right now it at least seemed like he was interested. And Viktor wanted to get to know him better. He was old enough to admit that he knew relatively little about Katsuki Yuuri the person. And that one night of wonderful dancing was not enough to sustain a relationship. But he wanted to know more.

He wanted to know Yuuri’s favorite food and his thoughts on nineteenth-century French literature. If Yuuri didn’t read nineteenth-century French literature Viktor wanted to introduce him to all of his favorites. He wanted to know about Yuuri’s family and where he was from and his thoughts on dogs. 

(Yuuri’s opinions on dogs were very important to Viktor. It was the sort of thing that could make or break a potential relationship. He really hoped Yuuri liked dogs.)

Viktor leaned back in the console chair and sighed. The hours until he got off shift seemed to creep by. He was itching in his seat to see Yuuri again, but he was dedicated to his job, so he dutifully ran his diagnostics and his simulations until the clock finally ticked over to six o'clock and he made his escape back to his stateroom.

The knowing looks of the rest of the bridge crew followed him out. Viktor didn’t know how any of them even knew what had him in such a hurry, but by the winks and whistles he got as he hustled out the door the ship’s gossip mill was running full steam ahead. Yuuri wouldn’t like that, Viktor was certain, the other man was usually so intensely private about everything, especially his personal affairs. He would have to ask him how he wanted to handle things when they met up.

Back in his stateroom, Viktor rifled through his meager selection of non-uniform outfits. He’d been quite stylish back in his teen years, and a few of those items still remained in his wardrobe, but his style had changed in the intervening years and Viktor wasn’t quite comfortable with some of his older fashion choices. Of course, lately he’d stopped buying many outfits at all, so it wasn’t like he had too much to choose from of his more contemporary selection.

What he did have, though, was well fitted and stylish, and Viktor picked out a good quality grey suit. The clean, simple lines and minimalist adornment matched well with the slightly more flamboyant pink silk tie and crisp white dress shirt. He finished the outfit with his second-favorite set of cufflinks (his favorite set would have clashed) and his nicest pair of non-regulation shoes, polished to a high shine. 

He was just finishing fixing his hair in the bathroom mirror when his communicator beeped, the alarm he had set warning him he would be late if he did not leave soon.

There were more knowing looks as he hurried towards the promenade. They were joined this time by a few whistles and even a thumbs up from AJ the cook, which Viktor ignored. He didn’t see why everyone was so worked up by the fact that he and Yuuri were going on a date.

Well, _he_ was getting worked up. He and Yuuri were going on a _date_. But it was hardly anybody else's business. At least that was what he told himself as yet another woman on the promenade gave him a once-over. 

Okay, maybe that was because he was all dressed up. Viktor knew how good he looked in a suit. But there was only one person he was aiming to impress today, and that person was standing in front of one of the nicer restaurants on the promenade, leaning against one of the station’s support columns in a way that highlighted the tantalizing curve of his back. How did he miss the fact he was a dancer before, his flexibility and posture were divine.

“Hello, Yuuri,” Viktor said, hesitant to break the spell holding the lovely image in place but even more incredibly excited to spend the evening with Yuuri.

Yuuri turned and gave Viktor a long, slow smile. “Hello, Viktor. Shall we head inside?” At Viktor’s nod, he pushed himself up and took Viktor’s arm. There was that sashay again as they walked into the restaurant. Viktor almost wished he could walk behind Yuuri because that walk was beautiful, but the opportunity to hold Yuuri’s arm was the far better end of the deal and he relished it as they were shown to their table, only slowly letting go as they separated to their seats.

“So, how was your day?” Viktor asked, trying to hide his nervousness behind a smile as he tucked his napkin onto his lap and glanced between Yuuri and the menu.

Yuuri shrugged, his mouth turned down into a little pout. “It could have been better.”

“Oh?” Good, the wine arrived, and Viktor sipped his slowly. To his relief, Yuuri did too. Not that he hadn’t had fun with Yuuri the night before, but he really did want to have a sober conversation this time around.

“Yes, I had the most fun evening with a charming, gorgeous man, but was then left to spend the night alone.” Yuuri’s index finger was tracing the rim of his wine glass as he looked intently at Viktor. “Said gorgeous man managed to redeem himself somewhat this morning by agreeing to go on a date with me but I then had to spend the entire day at work, without so much as the sight of him, and with nothing but the account books to keep me occupied.” 

He took a sip of his wine and a drip caught on his lower lip. Viktor watched, transfixed, as the tip of his tongue swept out over the lipstick-red pout to catch the errant drops.

Didn’t Yuuri know he already had Viktor caught like a trout on a line? He didn’t need to go through all the trouble to try and seduce him. But there was still one thing in Yuuri’s words that Viktor needed to clear up.

“You were drunk last night. And I was a bit, too. It wouldn’t have been right for us to do anything.”

“Ah, Viktor. So responsible.” Yuuri laughed. “I do hope you’re not entirely opposed to fun.” Viktor shook his head. He wasn’t entirely certain what Yuuri was saying but he thought it was something he probably wanted to agree to. “Good. Then perhaps we can have fun sometime soon, then.” 

Their meals arrived though Viktor didn’t remember ordering. There was pasta in cream sauce and something that approached real grilled chicken that didn’t even have the aura of meat long dead. The salads were fresh and crisp and the dessert, a chocolate mousse, was light and fluffy and deceptively rich. 

Once the meal proper had commenced the conversation was sparse and a bit stilted. Viktor tried to bury his disappointment. For all he liked this sexy Yuuri—and he very much did so, even if being domineeringly seduced was something of a new experience for him—he also wanted to talk. He’d been hoping that going on a date would give them the opportunity to get to know one another better. But Yuuri, it seemed, just wanted to sleep with him.

Was that something Viktor was willing to do? He ate another bite of his dessert and considered. Yes? Probably? The thought made something in his chest twist uncomfortably, but yes, he most likely would settle for casual sex. It wasn’t like he was against it or anything. (He was friends with Chris for starters, and that relationship would never have worked out if he had any ethical objections to casual sex). He’d done it before himself, too, although not recently and less and less frequently since his teen years. 

But he’d gotten his hopes up. He thought Yuuri was someone who liked him and was interested in a relationship with him, or at least interested in exploring the possibility. It had been a long time since there had been anyone fell into that category, with the combination of the frequent long-distance travel required for his job and the hotshot, playboy image inherent to his title torpedoing any prospective relationships before they had the opportunity to get off the ground. 

Viktor downed the rest of his wine and grabbed the bottle for a refill. This was always his problem. He wanted what he couldn’t have, so he stopped wanting. Then he let his guard down one time, for the one guy who he thought was a) unattainable and b) serious and like-minded enough that if Viktor ever did manage to get his attention, he would be interested in more than a fling. 

Well, it wasn’t the first time he was wrong and it wouldn’t be the last. It was going to take a long time and more wine than he currently had access too for Viktor to figure out where he went wrong in his assumptions, but he probably should at least wait until he was alone and not in the presence of the beautiful, talented object of his misdirected affections before getting good and sodding drunk.

Yuuri shot him a flirtatious look from across the table and Viktor did his best to smile back. The meal was excellent, a beautiful, charming man wanted to sleep with him, and he knew Chris had access to some of the best spirits on the station and was always willing to serve as Viktor’s partner in bitching whenever one of his romantic ventures went sideways. 

He had a plan. See? Everything was going to be fine. Viktor still felt a bit sick in the pit of his stomach as the grey fog began to close back in. At least Yuuri hadn’t seemed to notice.

Yuuri excused himself to use the restroom and Viktor took the opportunity to down the rest of the bottle of wine. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but right now he wanted to be just a bit less sober than he still was, and it was probably going to take Chris a while to hunt up a bottle of the good stuff once Viktor called (and Chris always insisted on the good stuff for Viktor’s post-breakup breakdowns).

Yuuri’s chair was kicked out, spun around, and had an irate teenager deposit himself in it, arms crossed on top of the back. Viktor almost dropped his wineglass. 

“Viktor,” Yuri snapped, voice held at a reasonable volume but probably only by the glare of the maitre’d, “you need to come with me.” He snagged a breadstick off the table and stuffed half of it in his mouth.

“What are you talking about, Yura, I’m busy.” Viktor set down his glass in an attempt not to model bad behaviors in front of a child and picked up his spoon to absentmindedly scrape at the last of his chocolate mousse.

“Yeah, yeah, you can get laid some other time. This is an emergency.”

“An emergency?” Viktor tried to focus through the thin haze of alcohol. “I didn’t get a call on my communicator. What’s wrong? Is it about the ship? Does the captain know? Are you alright? Let me get Yuuri and we can head back to the ship.” He fumbled for his communicator but it was stuck in the pocket of his suit pants.

“Nope!” Yuri said, jumping up and grabbing Viktor’s elbow “The ship’s fine, I’m fine, no need to call Katsuki, it’s just a small personal emergency and you need to come with me right now.” He pulled Viktor up out of his chair and headed towards the exit.

“Viktor?” Yuuri’s voice came from behind him and Viktor spun around, as well as Yuri’s death grip on his arm and his own drink-compromised balance would let him. “Viktor, what’s going on? Plisetsky?”

“Everything’s fine sir, I just need Viktor’s help with a family matter. We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Yuri said, the words coming out in a rush as he tugged at Viktor’s arm.

Yuuri curled around Viktor’s shoulder, rooting him in place. “We’ll be back to the ship soon enough, Plisetsky. You can wait for him there.” He gestured to the waiter for the check.

Yuri’s face flushed bright red, his jaw clenched, and for a moment Viktor thought he was about to start shouting in the middle of the restaurant. Yuuri tilted his chin and gestured to the assembled diners, the room full of hushed whispers and furtive stairs taking in the showdown in the midst of the dinner service.

Yuri bristled, but stood down and dropped Viktor’s arm, still glaring daggers as Yuuri paid the bill, keeping himself wrapped around Viktor the entire time.

“I’ll see you back at the ship,” Yuri called as Viktor let himself be led out of the restaurant.

“Twenty minutes,” Viktor said, “I’ll see you then.” He could still feel Yuri’s eyes drilling into his back as he walked down the promenade until he and Yuuri turned the corner.

Yuuri pulled him along, down a twisting and turning path. He walked faster and faster until Viktor was almost trotting to keep up despite his advantage in height. 

“Where are we going?” Viktor asked, “This isn’t the way back to the ship.”

“It’s a shortcut.”

Yuuri led him deeper and deeper into the station, farther and farther from any area Viktor had ever visited before. The signs on the walls indicated maintenance and cargo and station personnel only, and Viktor could not imagine how Yuuri would know his way around down here, let alone how they would get back to the ship from here.

The tunnel opened up into a cargo storage warehouse, deep inside the station. It was stacked high with pallets, boxes and crates, barrels and drums, all strapped down against a sudden loss of gravity or shift in station orbit. The lights were very low, and the towering stacks were eerie, faceless monoliths, cast in shadow and silence.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said, his whisper echoing in the cavernous space, “what are we doing here?”

“I told you, Viktor, it’s a shortcut.”

“Through an off-limits storage warehouse? Yuuri, I don’t think we should be here.”

Yuuri frowned, poking his lower lip out in a condescending pout. “Oh, what a goody-two-shoes you are. Haven’t you ever done something you ought not to have just because it’s fun?” He grabbed Viktor’s wrist to pull him along faster.

“What? Yes, I suppose so,” Viktor concedes as he trips along at the faster pace. “But still. Isn’t there something else we could do? Somewhere else?”

Yuuri laughed. “Nope,” he said as he halted next to an open area free of containers and illuminated by a single lit bulb. All the rest of the area was bathed in darkness.

Viktor stood, confused, in the empty space, squinting at Yuuri as he stepped back out of the light. “What?” he asked again. 

“Surprise,” said Yuuri, and his cheerful smile and wave were the last thing Viktor saw, face scrunched in bewilderment before a dark cloth bag was pulled over his head and his arms and legs were seized roughly.

“Wait, what? Yuuri!” Viktor shouted, but he only managed to get a few twists and tugs against his captors before the cool metal of a medical injector was pressed against his neck and the curl of a sedative mixed with the wine from dinner in his veins and sent him careening off the cliffs of unconsciousness.

* * *

Viktor woke with the taste of dead things in his mouth and the worst headache he had ever experienced. And that included the time he and Chris had gone partying to celebrate the end of Chris’ apprenticeship when he’d woken up two days later, fifty miles from where he was supposed to be, wearing a Carmen Miranda hat, a sarong, and one boot, without his ID or his communicator.

He still didn’t remember the details of that particular incident, and he desperately wished he couldn’t remember this one. Unfortunately, he could, the memories coming back to him in waves as he tried to massage his temples and cover his eyes from the light at the same time. He groaned. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” 

Viktor froze as the familiar voice reached him. It was just his luck that quite possibly the last person in the galaxy he wanted to see the one who he would wake up to. He forced his eyes open to glare at the speaker.

Katsuki Yuuri sat in a cell, legs crossed and knees pulled up to his chest. His glasses were a little crooked and his hair was a mess. He was dressed not in the formal suit that Viktor had last seen him in but in his usual uniform. The jacket was unbuttoned and the pants were covered in dust and dirt.

Viktor was pissed. He took a deep breath and buried it as best he could. “What are you doing here?” he asked in as polite a tone as he could muster. He even manages a thin smile to go along with it. The insides of his pockets were turned out and he didn’t even have to look to see that his communicator was missing.

“Well, I’m a prisoner,” Yuuri said, “I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Don’t have a choice?” Viktor felt his anger rising along with the pain in his head as his blood pressure increased. “So, you just had to trick me down here, too, did you?” He told himself that the tears pricking the corners of his eyes were only from his headache. 

Not from the sting of betrayal that Yuuri, that Katsuki could do this to him, could do this to anyone on their crew. He wasn’t so arrogant as to think himself special to Katsuki. He knew, rationally, that they had only ever had a polite, professional relationship until last night. But the thought that Katsuki could do this to anyone when Viktor had always considered him an upright, honest man of integrity rankled.

“What? No!” Katsuki jerked back, the force of his words drawing Viktor from his angry self-pity. “I would never. I don’t know how I ended up down here,” he mumbled the words a bit and flushed, and Viktor had drawn back enough from his anger to admit that that was really cute, “but I haven’t left since they locked me in and I certainly haven't tricked anyone else down here with me.”

Viktor considered that. “Well, if that’s true then you have a doppelganger running around impersonating you and dragging men off to be imprisoned.” He waved. “Hi.”

Katsuki’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, no.” he said, “oh, no, no, no. I’m so sorry. That’s bad that’s really bad. No one could tell it wasn’t me?” He looked imploringly at Viktor.

“No, I don’t think so.” 

Katsuki began to tear up and his hands began to shake, balled into fists against his knees. Viktor was bad with people crying, but this was kind, sweet, sexy Yuuri (who probably wasn’t the same person who had had him kidnapped) and Viktor felt a strong and uncharacteristic urge to do something. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“Um, maybe a day? I don’t have a clock and the meals don’t seem to be regular, so I can’t really tell.” Katsuki spoke around a quivering chin but his eyes fixed firmly on Viktor and his breaths were slow and even like he was counting them.

Viktor leaned back against the bulkhead of his cell. That was . . . less time than he had expected. “If it hasn’t been that long then maybe people just haven’t had the chance to notice there’s something off about you, especially with how chaotic people’s schedules get in a station. Or maybe someone has noticed and it just wasn’t me.” He shrugged. Yura called him a scatterbrained idiot all the time, it wouldn’t be surprising. It still stung his pride more than a bit, though.

Yuuri seemed to be doing a little better, though, so that was good. “It’s just, I don’t remember what happened?” he said with a frown that scrunched his whole face into a wrinkle of distress. Viktor thought it was kind of adorable. He shoved that thought as far into the 'to deal with when not imprisoned' pile as he could possibly manage.

There was a small bench in his cell, just a shelf that stuck out a foot or so from the bulkhead but he pulled himself up to sit more comfortably. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, but the stiff protest of his muscles indicated ‘a while’. 

Yuuri was still sitting on the floor, still in distress but clearly doing his best to hide it. Viktor had no idea how to deal with this sort of situation, so he said the first thing to pop into his head. “Well, what’d the last thing you do remember?”

Yuuri started. “Um, I was in the coffeehouse, on Sochi station, and I, uh, I got some bad news and I started drinking.” His cheeks flushed red and he hid his face in his knees. “And, well, I must have kept drinking and something happened because I woke up here with a splitting headache and no idea how I got here.”

Something lurched in Viktor’s chest. “So, you don’t remember-” He stopped, unable to make himself finish asking the question.

“Remember what?” Yuuri asked. “Did I do something when I was drunk? Did my doppelganger do something? Oh, no, what happened?”

Viktor took a breath and pushed the words out. “I think it was you. At the coffeehouse, you were dancing.”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri moaned as he dropped his head into his hands.

“You got into an argument with Yura and you challenged him to a dance-off. You won, by the way,” Viktor added over Yuuri’s distressed noises. “Then you danced with me. And with Chris. You’re very good, you know, why have I never seen you dance before?”

In the other cell, Yuuri seemed to be freaking out again. “Oh, no, no,” he said, “I _danced with you_? And with _Chris_? Oh, no, I must have made a complete fool of myself, I’m so sorry.”

“No don’t apologize, I had a lot of fun. And it certainly wasn’t a hardship to watch such a beautiful man dance so skillfully.” Viktor bit his tongue. That was a bit much, especially to someone he had hardly had a proper conversation with before today, at least not sober and that they both remembered. And even that was somewhat dubious.

Yuuri, if it was possible, flushed even harder. “Still, I want to apologize. I don’t hold my alcohol well, as you probably realized. I’m sorry if I said anything . . . inappropriate last night.”

“Inappropriate?” Viktor ran through the events of the previous night. “Please Yuuri, rest assured that you said nothing that I did not find absolutely delightful.” He paused to consider. “Well, except for the part where you tried to talk me into sleeping with you, but now that I think about it that was probably your doppelganger.”

A sound somewhere between a tornado siren and a dying whale emanated from Yuuri’s direction.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor said, turning up the brightness of his smile to hide the hurt from Yuuri’s reaction. “We didn’t do anything. You, or other you, were very drunk.”

Viktor was starting to get concerned from how red Yuuri’s face had gotten. He stood and walked up to the bars of his cell, as close as he could get to Yuuri with the barriers imposed between them. The other man was lying on his side, curled up with his hands over his face.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked, “Are you okay?” 

Yuuri shook his head but didn’t answer.

“Um, is there anything I can do?”

Another wordless denial.

Viktor stood there awkwardly, hands clasped behind his back. Yuuri kept his face covered, unmoving on the floor. Finally, he said, in a surprisingly composed voice, “Why do you think that it was the doppelganger? Who wanted to sleep with you?”

Relieved to have something to do, Viktor rushed into the question with all the fervor he usually reserved for new novels and flight simulations. “That’s an easy question,” he said, “First, I’ve been thinking about it and you must have been kidnapped at the coffeehouse. In retrospect, you had definitely been replaced by this morning, and security on the _Yu-topia_ is way too tight for someone to have grabbed you off of there.”

Yuuri had dropped his hands from his face and was nodding along with Viktor’s reasoning, even if he still refused to make eye contact and was staring off into space.

“And also,” Viktor said, “I suppose it was just out of character.” He shrugged. “I missed it at the time because I didn’t have enough information to put it all together, but ‘Katsuki Yuuri trying to get into my pants’ isn’t exactly a normal occurrence”

The hands were back over Yuuri’s face. Viktor went over what he had just said and frowned. He compared the three versions of Yuuri he knew: Katsuki, who was always polite and reserved, Yuuri, who laughed and danced with abandon, and the doppelganger, who flirted and seduced with calculation in his eyes.

This Yuuri in front of him was a match to none of them. Viktor was glad not to see any signs of the doppelganger—the doppelganger wasn’t really Yuuri at all. But this Yuuri was shyer and more embarrassed than the Yuuri who had danced with him or Katsuki the colleague he’d known for so long. Viktor didn’t know quite what to make of it, other than to think, no, to hope in some small bruised part of him that had been battered by the upheavals and revelations of the last twenty four or so hours that maybe, just maybe, he was getting to see some small part of the real Yuuri. A Yuuri who didn’t show his face in public very often.

Then Viktor went over his words again, and the spark of hope flickered and grew even brighter. “Yuuri,” he asked, “Are you telling me that you trying to get into my pants is not out of character?”

Yuuri let out an incoherent wail, muffled slightly by the hand over his mouth, and sat up abruptly. “No, um, yes,” he said, forehead leaning against the bars, “You are very good looking.” His jaw clicked shut and he continued to stare at Viktor’s shoes.

Viktor’s head swirled. Yuuri liked him? No, he scolded himself, Yuuri only said that he found him attractive. His pessimistic side did its best to reign in the part of him that was jumping for joy with the reminder of how he had felt when he had realized that the Yuuri-doppelganger was only looking for a bit of fun. Or to kidnap him, but the point held. He had no evidence that Yuuri was interested in dating him or dancing with him or moving in with him or adopting two point five dogs with him.

“You’re probably right it wasn’t me, though,” Yuuri said in a rush, “because of the security thing. Sorry about that, though.”

A chuckle broke its way out of Viktor’s throat. “Are you apologizing for something your doppelganger did while impersonating when you were kidnapped?”

“Um, yes? And for, I don’t know, whatever it was that I did when I was drunk before I got kidnapped. I’m sorry if I hit on you or made you uncomfortable or anything. I was drunk and I know that’s not an excuse but I don’t want you to think that I would ever try and put you in a situation where you felt uncomfortable or where it would compromise our working relationship or be a detriment to the crew. It’s going to be a while before the main office could send a replacement, but if you would prefer, I can put in for a transfer.”

“Wait, woah, hold up,” Viktor said, cutting off Yuuri’s self-recriminatory diatribe. “I don’t want you to leave, I said everything was okay and it is. I was _flattered_ that you were interested in me. I didn’t sleep with you—your double—because I thought they were drunk and I’m not really interested in casual sex. I _went on a date with them_ today—yesterday?—because I like you and I wanted to get to know you better. I had a lot of fun dancing with you at the coffeehouse, and I thought we might have a chance to have a relationship.”

Viktor paused, out of breath. The small space of the cells was almost echoing in the silence, and Viktor realized he had nearly been shouting. Yuuri was staring up at him, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock.

“We don’t have to do anything; It’s fine if our expectations are completely different. Just please, don’t think I’m angry, or insulted, or want you to leave because I found out you’re attracted to me.”

The last words come out almost at a whisper and Viktor gripped the bars of the cell tightly, the strength gone from his knees.

“Viktor,” Yuuri murmured.

There was a loud bang from the other side of the bulkhead that cut off whatever it was he was about to say. Both Viktor and Yuuri’s attention snapped to the airlock that separates their prison from whatever it is as the bang is followed up by several more bangs, a crash, and stream of howled curses so foul they make Viktor’s hair curl. Or, maybe that was just the humidity. 

Viktor glanced over at Yuuri, who was now standing, posture a mirror to Viktor’s, fists tight around the cell bars, warily watching the opaque hatch behind which the noises grew steadily closer. His eyes flicked over to Viktor’s caught, held for a moment, before breaking away and returning to the source of encroaching sound.

Tense minutes passed, the sounds of conflict growing more intense until it seems that whatever is going on is right outside the prison cells. The imprisoned men stood tense, poised to spring to they knew not what action, uncertain if the exterior chaos was beneficial or a detriment to their precarious situation.

That is until the hatch swung open to reveal a scowling Yuri Plisetsky flanked by two station security guards. “What the hell, you two,” he shouted over the sounds of the fire-fight behind him before marching up to the cells and alternately staring into Viktor and Yuuri’s faces. “Yeah, it’s them,” he said to the security officers, one of whom triggered an access panel on the far side of the hatch which opened the cell doors.

Yuuri and Viktor ran out without hesitation. The officers herded them and Yuri out of the cell block and into an open cargo bay. It looked to Viktor like one of the standard commercial bays, attached to the berths where the merchant ships like the _Yu-topia_ would usually dock.

What wasn’t standard or usual was the firefight currently raging between uniformed station security and a bunch of people Viktor didn’t recognize. Someone, probably the security officers, had set off some sort of smoke grenade, and the air was still thick and hazy with the remnants as the merchant trio was hustled behind a stack of crates where more station security crouched.

“What is going on?” Viktor asked, “Who are these people?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “You were kidnapped, dumbass. The people shooting at us kidnapped you. These guys are station security. We’re rescuing you.”

“Why thank you, Yura, that was very informative. I already worked that much out. I was hoping you might have some useful information, such as who kidnapped us, and why, and why did a team of armed security officers bring you along into the middle of a firefight?” 

Yuri bristled at the words but before he could go off at Viktor Yuuri cut in. “Maybe we can talk about this once we are out of danger?” he said gesturing at the pair of security officers impatiently waiting to escort them from the scene.

The two former kidnap victims found themselves secluded in a small antechamber in the station security office. Or perhaps secluded was not the correct word. They were shown in, seated on hard metal chairs, and descended upon by hordes of officials trying to extract information, apply medical care, or just make themselves look useful. Only the shouts and glares from Yuri managed to drive them away, for which Viktor was grateful if amused as to how his tiny, fifteen-year-old cousin managed to police all the adults.

The mass of people filed out and they were left alone in the tiny room. A blanket his Viktor in the chest and he caught it as it dropped into his lap. “What’s this for?”  
“It’s a blanket,” said Yuri, “It’s for the shock. Or something” He tossed a second one at Yuuri.

“I’m not in shock,” Viktor said, but he wrapped it around himself anyway. It was warm, that was nice.

There was a commotion at the door, which opened to admit the captain. Yuuri stood at attention. “Captain Feltsman, I’m terribly sorry about all of this,” he said, but his words were brushed aside with a flick of the captain’s hand.

“None of that now, Katsuki,” he said, “we can assign fault and blame later. But right now, I have a hoard of people waiting to speak with you and all of them are remarkably short on patience.”

Yuuri if anything looked even more miserable at the captain’s words. “Yes, sir,” he said, sitting back down.

“First off, I want you two to be looked over by medical. I bought one of our guys so you don’t have to deal with all that nonsense the station people are running right now.” 

He cracked the door and waved in Emil, one of the two medical personnel employed on the _Yu-topia_. He was wearing his trademark cheerful reassuring smile and carrying a duffel bag.

“After you get checked out station security wants to talk to you, but you will be back on board the _Yu-topia_ by twenty-three hundred hours tonight if I have to come back down here and drag you back myself. You’re both under curfew until we leave the station, do I make myself clear?”

Yuuri and Viktor both nodded. Viktor couldn’t help but feel relieved at the captain’s words. They might come across as harsh, but a curfew would hopefully get them back on the ship at a reasonable hour, instead of staying up to the early hours of the morning in an interview room. And the extra security measures on board would offer an extra layer of protection against whoever had kidnapped them in the first place.

“What time is it now, sir?” Viktor asked.

“Eleven hundred hours.”

It was still going to be a long day. 

After being poked and prodded and provided with a clean set of clothes—the ones they were wearing were evidence, it was explained, and Viktor bemoaned the loss of his favorite suit—Viktor watched with concern as he and Yuuri were led off to separate interview rooms. “It’s to make sure you don’t influence one another’s stories,” said the kindly security officer who was leading Viktor by the elbow, a grandmotherly smile on her face.

But Viktor wasn’t confused about what was happening, and anyway, his and Yuuri’s stories were already hopelessly muddled after their time in the cells. Yuuri had walked away with the air of a man headed to the gallows and Viktor had no idea why. 

The other man acted as if he expected to be blamed for whatever crimes had been committed in his name—or rather, by his face—and while Viktor was not entirely familiar with the justice system on Sochi station he was reasonably certain that having your identity stolen and used to perpetrate criminal acts was not in and of itself a criminal offense. He briefly, for a horrible moment, considered that maybe the authorities didn’t know there was a double, but rejected the thought immediately. If they didn’t know. how would they have known to come and find him and Yuuri? And no one had put Yuuri in handcuffs. 

No one would tell Viktor anything, and the only thing he could do, since he could not comfort Yuuri and he could not interrogate the security officers, was to tell the whole story from his point of view to the security constable in as much detail as he could manage, emphasizing at every point that Yuuri was an innocent victim.

It was a bit embarrassing, going through the entire thing when he had to reveal how much of a blind fool he had been for much of the whole ordeal. The constable did little to alleviate his discomfort, asking probing questions to clarify at the slightest inconsistency or evasion, but at least Viktor never felt that the man was laughing at him. He was not looking forward to having to recount the story to his shipmates. Especially Chris. Chris was going to laugh his ass off at Viktor in the kindest way possible.

After Viktor finished telling his account to station security the constable left and a man from port security came in and Viktor had to go through the whole thing over again. Then a security officer brought him lunch—some soup and a slightly stale roll, but he appreciated it tremendously, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate, it must have been the dinner before he was abducted—and after he finished with that a woman from the Navy came in and he had to go over it one more time.

Viktor had absolutely no idea what interest the Navy had with a kidnapping case on a space station on a minor trade route, but the woman’s presence was his first clue that whatever was going on was bigger than he had thought. The woman, of course, refused to tell him anything and just prompted him to continue with his account, thank you, Mr. Nikiforov.

In a surprising concession to Captain Feltsman’s timetable, Viktor was finally released around twenty-three hundred hours that evening. The security officers had forgotten to feed him dinner and his stomach protested loudly as he walked out onto the promenade. It was strangely normal, the smattering of late-night diners and shoppers making their way back home gave no indication that anything was amiss.

Viktor himself felt entirely amiss. The last forty-eight hours had spun him around, turned him upside down, and pulled the metaphorical rug out from under his boots so many times he hardly knew which way was up anymore. And he was an extrasolar merchant pilot. He was used to orienting himself in a four-dimensional plane. But this was worse than those simulations he used to run of outer space dogfights where everything goes a hundred kilometers a second and you never know which way is up.

“Hey, old man.” The words cut through Viktor’s disoriented ruminations and he turned around to find Yuri slouched against the facade of the security office, hands stuffed into his uniform pockets, glaring at him. “Are you just going to stand there staring into space or are we actually going to go back to the ship?”

“What about?” Viktor gestured back into the office.

Yuri shrugged and pushed himself off the wall. “Don’t worry about him. Chulanont’s in there waiting for him.” 

It was another moment, and another glance behind, but Viktor followed Yuri’s quickly retreating back. The chill from earlier was back, the niggling worry that Yuuri would be blamed for something he had no control over. But the captain had sent him an escort and it would not do to get left behind.

Yuri had speed and a head start on his side, but Viktor had longer legs. He caught up with his cousin as they approached the turn-off for the docking bays. “Thanks for coming to get me, Yura,” he said, both because he meant it and because he couldn’t resist teasing his cousin about something he knew he found annoying.

“Yeah, whatever.” The reply was much more subdued than Viktor had expected, familiar with Yuri’s usual snaps and snarls and rants.

“Wouldn’t you have rather stayed to wait for Yuuri?” he asked, genuinely curious now.

Yuri gave a halfhearted shrug, not looking at Viktor. “You’re my cousin. And it’s not like anyone else was going to wait for you. The captain said someone had to do it, so.”

Viktor found himself smiling at that. Yuri had some funny ideas about family, and he protected those he considered as such fiercely. Even if Viktor was only family by blood, and ever if Yuri didn’t like him all that much, it was flattering to hear that Yuri considered him an important enough person in his life to wait to walk him back to the ship from the security office.

Flattering enough that Viktor neglected to point out the other people in his life who could have played bodyguard in Yuri’s place. Chris, for one. And, well. Chris. There was Chris. Okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly swarming in close friends and comrades but the point still held. There was someone else who could have escorted him back and Yuri had not been obligated to do so. It was a sweet gesture, even if Yuri denied it.

Of course, the sweetness is negated somewhat when he drops Viktor off at the _Yu-topia_ mumbling something about going back to the station to wait for Katsuki. Viktor can only shrug. It’s what he would expect from Yuri, after all.

Viktor checks in with the captain and receives a clap on the shoulder and a gruff “It’s good to have you back, Vitya, we were worried,” before being told to be sure to report for duty on time in the morning and dismissed.

The mess is closed and the galley is dark, but Viktor figures no one would mind if he took a quick look through the refrigerator before heading to his quarters. He’s pleasantly surprised to be proven right when he finds a plate of cold leftovers with his name written on the wrappings sitting on the top shelf. There's one for Yuuri as well. The cook signed them in his characteristically flamboyant manner, JJ, with a tiny smiling self-portrait to the side so everyone could be certain who was responsible.

Viktor wolfed his down cold, the texture somewhat congealed but everything delicious regardless. Hunger abated, he headed for his quarters. He was going to have to reevaluate his assessment of the cook. And try harder to remember his name.

Despite, or perhaps because of, his exhaustion, Viktor took his time preparing for bed. He indulged in a long, hot shower, figuring no one was going to yell at him for straining the water reclamation system after the time he had. He pulled out all his favorite lotions and scrubs and cleansers. By the time he had finished, it was nearly one in the morning and there was not a square inch of his skin that still held the grimy, itchy feel of imprisonment and having been touched by an imposter.

From his drawers, he pulled out his nice pajamas, the silk ones he bought back when he still had the impulse to occasionally show off for someone and pulled them on instead of his usual regulation cotton. He’d just finished toweling dry his still-damp hair when the buzzer rang indicating someone at the door.

Recent events prompted a flurry of worst-case scenarios to fly through Viktor’s head. But he’d worked on Hasetsu line cargo ships his entire adult life, and he knew the security measures in place that would make it nearly impossible for an intruder to get on board. He shushed the paranoid part of him that wondered what if the doppelganger had managed to get past the revamped security system and was out for revenge and opened the door.

Yuuri stood, hair and clothes in disarray, with his shoulders slumped and an apologetic frown on his face in the hall. The circles under his eyes were dark as bruises, and he looked as though he hadn’t gotten a wink of rest or a shower in a week. It had probably been at least three days, at any rate.

“Do you want to come in?” Viktor asked, standing back to allow Yuuri to stumble his way into the cabin. He looked around, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as if unsure of how to proceed. Viktor untucked his desk chair and offered it to him, sitting cross-legged on the bed himself. “Did you want something?”

Yuuri picked awkwardly at some bit of lint on his trousers. Viktor only now noticed that the spare uniform Emil had brought Yuuri was slightly too big; the pant legs hung long, falling in untidy pools at his ankles. Yuuri hadn’t bothered to roll them up.

“My quarters,” he said, “it’s evidence. I can’t get back in until security finishes going through everything.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and hoarse. Viktor supposed he would sound a bit like that after all the talking he had to do today, and he wouldn’t have had to do nearly as much as Yuuri.

“Do you want to use my shower?” Viktor offered.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“It’s fine,” Viktor said. He pulled out a spare towel and handed it to Yuuri. “Just, why ask me? I really don’t mind, but wouldn’t you rather stay with Chulanont? Or even Yura? I know he can be a bit prickly, but he clearly cares for you. And there’s no way Chulanont would kick you out after all of this.”

Yuuri twisted his hands in the towel. “It’s just, they’ve already done so much, and I wouldn’t want to be a burden. Not that I want to be a burden on you!” He looked up at Viktor, eyes wide.

“I told you, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“The thing is, Phichit and Yura have already done so much. I know they want to help, that they would if I asked, but I can’t keep asking them for every little thing.” He shrugged. I have to start figuring things out on my own at some point.”

Viktor let out a bark of a laugh. It was sharp and harsh, without much humor, and it made Yuuri jump. His smile was as fond as it was exasperated as he said “Yuuri, you were just rescued after being kidnapped and held hostage, then interrogated by police for thirteen hours. I think you can be forgiven for asking for some help.” 

At Yuuri’s bewildered look he shook his head. “Go take a shower. You look like you need it.”

Yuuri managed an offended look through the exhaustion at the words, which Viktor did his best to ameliorate with a set of spare pajamas and a smile as the door to the washroom closed. As the pipes rattled once more to life he settled onto his bunk and hoped his shipmates would not come pounding down his door for the second late-night noisy disturbance.

The books Viktor had bought at Lee’s booksellers sat on his bedside table, untouched since he placed them there. They’d accompanied him all throughout that fantastical night at the coffee shop, tucked deep into the recesses of his uniform pants pockets. He’d had to rescue them from the laundry hamper the next morning, having thrown the entire lot in to wash that night, intoxicated by drink and desire and wishful fantasy. 

He picks up the top one now at random and thumbs through the first few pages. The words blur and Viktor finds himself reading and rereading the same paragraph without comprehension. 

It is late. He understands nothing. No one will tell him what has happened. He only knows that something bad has and that somehow, he has been caught up in the middle of it. And there is a sweet, shy, gorgeous man using his shower and borrowing Viktor’s clothes.

Yuuri exits the bathroom still toweling the last of the water from his hair. It’s sticking out at all directions and looks like a porcupine. He’s wearing the pajamas Viktor gave him—just an old t-shirt with the company logo and some sweatpants—and Viktor likes that rather more than he thinks he should. His glasses have been left behind somewhere in the washroom and he squints when he looks over at Viktor.

“Feel better?” Viktor asked.

“Yeah.” Yuuri gestured with the towel. “Where do you want this?”

“Any of the hooks on the door, it’s fine.”

Yuuri ducked back into the bathroom to hang up the towel before again asking, “And where do you want?” He gestured at himself this time.

Viktor patted at the bunk beside him, then laughed at Yuuri’s incredulous look. “Well, I only have the one. And I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor, so.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind.” Yuuri protested, but he walked forward until he was standing right next to the bed, knees pressed against the side of the mattress, looking down at Viktor with a concerned frown like he was worried Viktor was ill, or not in his right mind.

“Of course, I’m sure. We’re grown adults, we can share a bed. Unless you feel really uncomfortable about it, in which case I’ll take the floor.”

“Viktor!” Yuuri sounded horrified. “I’m not going to kick you out of your bed.”

“Then get in,” Viktor said, holding back the blankets. “And hurry up, it’s cold, there’s a draft.”

Yuuri climbed into the bunk and they tucked the blankets around themselves. It’s a tight fit, the bunk really only designed to fit one person, and Viktor can feel the tickle of Yuuri’s breath on his throat. 

“You’re going to have to turn off the lamp, I can’t reach,” he said, not because it was true—the switch was closer to Yuuri but Viktor probably could have reached it at a stretch—but to break the tense silence mounting between them.

“Oh, sorry.” Yuuri twisted and jostled, and the light went out. They were left lying in the darkness, only the faint glow of the wall clock and the emergency panels on the wall opposite the bunk illuminating the room.

The minutes ticked by with infinite slowness and Viktor could not fall asleep. Too much had happened, too much was still unknown, and he was lying right next to Yuuri, who was caught up in so much of the mess and the answer—maybe, he hoped—to so many of Viktor’s prayers. Yuuri, who was tossing and turning like the mattress was made of rocks and nails instead of standard-issue industrial grade mattress components.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked. The figure at his side stilled. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” The silence that stretched between them was tense and brittle, but Viktor was very tired and he’d suffered enough emotional turmoil over the last few days that he could license it as a roller coaster blueprint. “You don’t have to talk to me. What you talk about and to who is your business and your decision, but please. After everything. Don’t lie to me.”

For a minute Viktor thought Yuuri would turn on the light and get out of bed, but then, softly, but stronger than any of the words Yuuri had said since he walked into Viktor’s room he said, “I’m not lying.” He paused. “Or, I’m not lying to you?” Viktor felt more than heard Yuuri shake his head. “If I say it, I make it true,” he finally said, “so if I’m lying, I’m lying to myself so hopefully, if I say it enough, it won’t be a lie.”

“That . . . is confusing,” said Viktor, “and I’m not sure that’s how the truth works.” He felt Yuuri start to physically draw away and he hurried on. “But if it helps, I guess that's what’s important.” Yuuri relaxed a fraction and Viktor’s heart rate, which he hadn’t realized had jumped to a gallop, slowed its pace somewhat. “What I was trying to say, though, was that if you wanted to talk about, well, anything, I’m willing to listen.”

“I don’t like talking about my feelings.”

“That’s fine, neither do I.”

“I don’t like putting that burden on anyone else.”

“If someone volunteers to help you it’s because they want to help you, not because you’re forcing them.”

“I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated.”

The words drew a low laugh out of Viktor. “Obligated? By what?” 

“By the fact that you feel sorry for me,” Yuuri said.

“I empathize with you, because, in addition to a bunch of other crummy stuff, you were just kidnapped and held hostage. A situation, may I remind you, that I was myself just recently found myself in and I am aware it is terrible.”

Yuuri pressed on. “Because I am here? In your bunk?” 

“Which I invited you to share.”

“Because I’m sharing your quarters?”

“I asked you to. I offered.”

“Because I have a crush on you and you feel sorry for me?”

“Did we not already established that I have a crush on you, too? Because I feel like we already did and this is just getting redundant.” Viktor’s words grow more and more clipped as Yuuri’s reasoning degenerates.

There’s a sigh in the darkness next to him. “Oh, yeah,” Yuuri said quietly, almost under his breath. Then, “do you want to go out with me?”

“Right now?”

Yuuri laughs and it’s beautiful. It’s open and honest, almost like the laughs when he was drunk at the coffeehouse and twirling Viktor around on the dance floor. “No,” he said, “It's the middle of the night. And there’s still a lot of . . . stuff going on. But, soon? Maybe once we’re underway again?” 

“Oooh, mess hall date,” said Viktor, drawing out his teasing tone as far as he could and wiggling his eyebrows even though Yuuri couldn’t see them in the dark. “Maybe Chef JJ can make us his fancy french fries.”

That gorgeous laugh made another appearance. “You like poutine?” Yuuri sounded a little breathless and a bit disbelieving.

“Of course, I do. Do you not?”

“It’s delicious, I just didn’t think you would.”

Viktor drew back, mock offended. “Do I not strike you as someone who enjoys a variety of fine cuisine? Did you think I only ate ration packs and borsch?” He grinned widely as his words accomplish their mission. Yuuri is laughing hard enough that he’s hunched over, his face pressed into Viktor's shoulder, their legs tangling together beneath the covers.

“No,” Yuuri said when he managed to calm down enough to form words again. “I just thought you were too fancy for it, I guess? Like you would prefer fine dining restaurants, like fancy French food, or those places where they turn everything into foam or smoke and the whole meal is just a dozen little dishes of food but not food? Not french fries covered in cheese curds and gravy.”

Viktor’s smile is graven so firmly on his face that his cheeks are starting to hurt. “I’m not that posh,” he said, “I’m a merchant pilot. I do long hauls for mediocre pay with terrible rations the same as everyone else. I’m flattered you think I have such sophisticated taste, but potatoes, cheese curds, and gravy are delicious and I know the value of fresh food just as well as anyone else on this ship.”

You’re the finest pilot in the fleet, and half our competitors keep trying to lure you away to work for them. You’re not just any merchant pilot.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Viktor chuckled. It was a pained sound. “I’m still just a person, though. Yes, I’m good at what I do, but I’m just a regular person.”

“Well, then can I interest you in joining me for a plate of the finest poutine, or whatever else the mess has to offer once the ship is underway, Mr. Viktor ‘Just a Regular Person’ Nikiforov?”

Viktor’s heart was pounding like a kettle drum in his chest. “I would love that, Yuuri.”

“Okay, then, it’s a date.”

“It’s a date,” Viktor echoed softly. 

He knew he might have sounded dismissive before, but a date in the mess hall sounded wonderful. No artifice, no drama, just a quiet meal in the familiar surroundings of the ship and the crew. 

Well, maybe a little drama once Chris found out the whole story and figured out the best way to tease him about finally getting a date with Katsuki. And once Yura found out and threatened to kick his ass. Viktor wasn’t sure why yet, he was just sure that Yura would, and loudly. Chulanont would probably be quieter, but Viktor had his suspicions about what that man could do. It would just likely be quieter.

Viktor dozed, lulled to sleep by the dull throb of the engines still humming even docked and the warmth of the body curled up next to him.

“Viktor?” Yuuri whispered, his voice tickling Viktor’s ear and pulling him back to consciousness.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For your help.”

“I didn’t do anything. I stumbled around like an idiot, got kidnapped, and still have no idea what’s going on.”

Yuuri laughed and Viktor felt the vibrations in his own chest. “No, not with that.”

“Ah, so you agree I was useless.”

That made Yuuri laugh harder. Even still half-asleep Viktor grinned in triumph. He wanted to make Yuuri laugh more. Tonight, tomorrow, on their date, for forever. He wanted more of that sound. And he wanted Yuuri to be happy.

“No,” said Yuuri when he finally managed to form words once more, “it’s just, that wasn't what I was talking about. Thank you for your help tonight. You didn’t have to let me stay. So, thank you.”

Viktor rolled on his side to stare hard at the indistinct lump that was Yuuri, more awake now and with a frown creasing his face. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?” he asked, tone scolding. “Let me recap. It’s fine, you’re not a burden, I don’t feel obligated. Do you understand?”

Yuuri snorted and cuddled closer. “Yeah, no, I get it. That wasn’t what I meant.” he sighed. “I am bad at this. Sorry. Let me try again. You went through some stuff, too, some of which had to do with me, or my double. And it would be totally understandable if you needed some space to, like, process all of that. But here you are being totally nice and kind and understanding, so, please. Let me say thank you.”

“Okay,” Viktor said. “You’re welcome.”

Yuuri relaxed, and Viktor’s eyelids began to droop once more. The clock continued to advance and they drifted off like that, huddled together in Viktor’s bunk with only a light blanket to serve as a defense against the chill of the air conditioner, curling ever closer together until the shrill beeping of Viktor’s alarm woke them for their shifts.


End file.
